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- <text id=91TT1213>
- <title>
- June 03, 1991: The Second Triumph of Amy Tan
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
- June 03, 1991 Date Rape
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- BOOKS, Page 67
- The Second Triumph of Amy Tan
- </hdr><body>
- <p> Fairy tales and Amy Tan seem to keep close company. Two years
- ago Tan was just another struggling, unpublished, 37-year-old
- writer, making up brochures for computer companies while
- composing stories on the side. By the end of 1989 she was the
- author of the most admired novel on the best-seller list, her
- Joy Luck Club having conquered critics and the public alike. A
- literary star had been born overnight--and, in her wake, a
- fairy tale's difficult postscript: How could she ever live up
- to what felt like a once-in-a-lifetime success?
- </p>
- <p> At the outset of The Kitchen God's Wife (Putnam; 415
- pages; $22.95), one's apprehensions begin to gather like
- avenging furies: the opening pages introduce us to a young
- Chinese-American woman, her all-American husband and her
- inalienably Chinese mother, living around San Francisco--precisely the contemporary scene that made up the least
- transporting parts of The Joy Luck Club. For two chapters the
- young woman tells a pleasant but unremarkable tale of
- sweet-and-sour tensions, haunted by her nagging mother--and
- by her nagging sense that her mother and she are speaking
- different languages. Then, on page 61, the mother takes over,
- and suddenly the book takes flight.
- </p>
- <p> For almost all the pages that follow, the yeasty old woman
- unpacks the rich and terrible secrets of her past, as a young
- girl in Shanghai growing up amid a plague of sorrows: how her
- own mother abandoned her and she was married off to an ogreish
- ne'er-do-well; how they hid in a monastery famous for
- dragon-well tea while the Japanese invaded Manchuria; how
- somehow she endured the war, losing friends and children along
- the way; and how, in the end, indomitable as pain, she escaped
- China and her husband just five days before the communist
- takeover.
- </p>
- <p> Almost every page of the old wife's tale is lit up with
- the everyday magic of a world in which birds can sound like
- women crying and sweaters are knit in the memory of spider webs.
- Yet all the storybook marvels are grounded in a survivor's
- vinegar wit ("In Nanking, snow is like a high-level official--doesn't come too often, doesn't stay too long"). And in front
- of the watercolor backdrops are horrors pitiless enough to mount
- a powerful indictment against a world in which women were
- taught that love means always having to say you're sorry. In
- traditional China, the old widow recalls, "a woman had no right
- to be angry."
- </p>
- <p> Yet the end--and the point--of Tan's novel is
- forgiveness, and the way in which understanding the miseries of
- others makes it harder to be hard on them. And as the story all
- but tells itself--so seamlessly it feels as if Tan's ancestors
- are speaking through her--it bestows on us a host of luminous
- surprises. The first is that the dowdy, pinchpenny old woman has
- a past more glamorous than fairy-tale, and more sad. The second
- is that in the light of her trials, her curious superstitions
- come to seem as sound as legal evidence. The final surprise may
- be the best of all: Tan has transcended herself again,
- triumphing over the ghosts, and the expectations, raised by her
- magnificent first book.
- </p>
- <p> By Pico Iyer
- </p>
-
- </body></article>
- </text>
-
-